


The Bet

by microwavebubbles



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, My own sliding doors fic, a humorous what if?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microwavebubbles/pseuds/microwavebubbles
Summary: Based of a prompt from mytumblrThem trying to keep their relationships from the team and then find out in funny ways.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss
Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144901
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	The Bet

“I’m headed out too guys.” Emily said, standing from the table, grabbing her purse.

“It’s early honey!” Garcia said, shocked at Emily’s abrupt departure.

“I know, I’m just tired. Need to catch up on some sleep" she replied, smiling as she kissed Penelope on the cheek, leaving the bar into the twilight outside.

“I’m telling you, they’re dating" Morgan said, watching as the door swung shut.

“Not this again” JJ groaned, reaching for her drink.

“What?” Spencer asked.

“Derek is convinced that Hotch and Emily are dating" JJ explained.

“Wait, really?” Reid asked.

“Yeah pretty boy, you haven’t noticed? They’re always leaving right after the other, ten minutes until the other follows"

“That doesn’t mean anything, numbers-wise they put in more hours than the rest of us do, and Hotch has a child. I’m not surprised they leave early" Spencer said.

“Really? Makes sense that the tequila shooting Prentiss has left before any of us on the last 4 nights out?” Garcia asked, her eyebrows raised.

“I thought we agreed not to profile each other" Dave cut in, his expression stern.

“We’re not profiling!” JJ said. “Just... wondering. Do you know anything?”

“No" he said shortly, fixing them with a stern look.

“How do we prove it?” Garcia asked, waving her hand at Rossi’s protest.

“You won’t,” Morgan said. “They’re clever, they still take separate cars and they don’t use the same shampoo or body wash.”

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot" Reid said.

“Can't turn this big brain off Genius." Morgan laughed, tapping his temple.

"You'll never prove it," Penelope said, a slight pout on her lips.

"Wanna bet?" He replied. "I bet I can prove it before any of y'all"

"I'll take that action," JJ said, laughing. "What's the wager?"

"Hundred bucks, each in. First one to prove Hotch and Emily are dating takes all?" Morgan said, looking around the table.

They all pulled out their wallets, Reid looking a little reluctant as he nodded.

"Okay, bet" Rossi said, a smirk on his face.

**How Spencer Wins The Bet.**

Spencer wins the bet three months after they make it. In truth he’s forgotten about it, the information pushed out of his mind for more important pieces of knowledge.

He wins on a Thursday night. He decided to stay late in the office, working on his philosophy thesis. He’s writing fast, cramped small handwriting in a notebook as he scribbles thoughts that flash like rushing water. Searching one-handed for the old case file he’s using for citation he frowns when his hand lands on his empty in-tray. He is like a magpie, collecting files and pieces of paper and stacking them, creating a walled fortress around his desk, guarded and surrounded by knowledge. The file is one of Gideons, the summary written in a spiky script that reminds Spencer of a ticking clock. He frowns, looking around his desk properly for the first time all day.

Once a month or so, JJ clears the files from his desk, she grabs what he has hoarded and moves it back to its proper place, which in this case means the storage offices. Spencer grins at the prospect, they smell older, like libraries, full of stories and knowledge and things he hasn’t discovered yet. He’s promised himself a sick day at some point in the future, to sneak in and read the entire room.

He walks, counting his steps as he goes, a game from childhood he used to love. It’s two hundred and sixty-eight steps from his desk to the office, and he counts as he walks, distracted by the flickering fluorescent lights above him. He’s delighted when his hand hits the doorknob on step 268. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t hear them. The lights are already on when he walks in and it takes a long time for the images and sounds in front of him to focus and make sense.

Emily’s back is to him, and for the briefest moment, he’s grateful. She’s spread on one of the old desks, her shirt is open, falling off a shoulder that’s bare and flushed, and he sees a naked leg strewn over a suited shoulder, held in place by a large hand. She’s chanting his name like a prayer, high and thready as her hand twists in his hair, knuckles white. Spencer watches in stunned silence as she crests and falls, a shaky laugh escaping her lips.

He’s amazed at the dignity with which Hotch rises from his knees, bends to engulf her mouth in his, his hands sliding over her legs, under the shirt. Spencer feels as though he’s been shot when Hotch locks eyes with him.

“Shit! Spencer!” He says, pulling back off Emily as though she was aflame.

“Not what a girl wants to hear Aaron” Emily laughs, lazy and slow, her lips still flushed. When she casts her eyes over her shoulder and sees him, she freezes, cast immediately to stone.

“I… uh. I… needed. I’m… sorry, I needed a… there’s this file” Spencer stutters, unable to keep his eyes still, bouncing from the rows of boxes, to his boss, to his half-naked friend, to the ceiling and back again.

Hotch coughs, clearing his throat and subtly wiping his chin as he watches Spencer crumble in front of him.

“Spencer, I’m sorry. We didn’t know anyone was still left in the office” Emily said, her skin darkening like wine as she tugs her shirt closed, slips lightly from the desk, hiding herself as she pulls pants on, awkward and hasty.

“Obviously” Spencer says, finding a watermark on the ceiling and pretending it’s the most interesting thing in the world. That makes Hotch laugh, and that freaks Spencer out more than anything else has. He hears the slap of skin on a suit as Emily smacks his shoulder.

“Not funny” She says. “Spencer, Aaron and I are dating”

“Oh I know” he replies. “We all suspected for months. Actually, I just won money”

“What? How?” Emily says, her gaze narrowing.

“We made a bet” he admits, less sheepish than he should be ( _I’ll never be able to look Hotch in the eye again)_ and shrugs his shoulders “I just won it.”

“Well then I’m not sorry and you can take your file and go” Emily said, raising her eyebrows in a mocking smirk.

“Right… yeah… I’ll… yeah.” He grabs the file, located one stack in and leaves.

“Oh, Spence?” Emily calls as he bumps into the doorframe.

“Yes?” he says, unwilling to turn around.

“Knocking is also a useful skill” She says and he nods, walking quickly away from the room.

Two hundred and sixty-eight steps later Spencer grabs his phone, dialling Morgan’s number without thinking.

“You owe me money” he says when Morgan answers, his voice thick with sleep. “and therapy. Lots of therapy.”

**How JJ Wins the Bet**

JJ wins the bet on a Sunday morning. As much as she loves the competition, a part of her feels awkward about prying into the personal lives of her co-workers. She’s reminded often of how gentle they were about her and Will, never prying, only nudging until JJ took the leap. They had known for a long time, Emily admitted but didn’t want to push her. She’s content in thinking they’re happy and requires no other details.

Instead, she figures she will win the bet by being the first person that Emily tells, whenever she is ready.

Henry and Jack have regular playdates. Hotch takes the boys to the museum, the botanical gardens, museums, and spends an entire day with two rowdy boys making learning fun. JJ takes them to adventure parks, jungle gyms and waterslides, running off their energy by matching it with her own. Once a month they trade kids, giving each other a rare peaceful Sunday, a chance to relax and regroup.

Henry is dancing next to her when she knocks on the door.

“Honey I _told_ you to go before we left” She chastises lightly, watching him cross and uncross his legs, the exaggerated poses of childhood.

“I didn’ haf ta go then” he whines, tugging impatiently at her hand as she watches the dark shadow of Aaron approach the door. He’s dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, as casual as she’s ever seen him.

“Hi Aaron, can Henry use your bathroom before we go please?” She asks, her hand light on her son’s shoulder, stopping him from bolting into the house.

“Of course” He replies, stepping aside with a kind smile as Henry dashes madly into the house. He knows where to go, they’re semi-frequent fixtures here, she hears him yelp a hello to Jack as he dashes past, shutting the door to the downstairs bathroom harder than is necessary, the slam echoing through the house.

“Sorry” She smiles, watching as his eyes flick unconsciously up the stairs.

“No problem” He says, his posture so much more relaxed than at the office, an easy grace at being in his own home. JJ thinks that domestic life suits him so much more than rigid posturing, she can see him easily in a kitchen, cooking breakfast. Jack comes into the hallway, bag slung over his shoulder, toothy grin as he sees her.

“Hiya Miss Jareau,” he says, excitement and politeness bubbling out of him in turn.

JJ heard the toilet flush, the sink start as Henry washes his hands. Her head whips when she hears the creak of the stairs.

“Honey I thought you were going to let me sleep in…. _oh,_ ” Emily is halfway down the stairs when she sees her. JJ’s instinct is to cover Jack’s eyes, but he waves at her so happily it's immediately apparent this is more than a common occurrence. She’s wearing a men’s shirt, faded black shorts peeking out the bottom. Her hair is wild and JJ can see the blush of a mark on her neck.

“Hi JJ,” She says, sucking her lip through her teeth.

“Miss Em’ly slept over last night” Jack informs her. “We made pancakes and watched Toy Story”

JJ bites her lip, trying hard to choke the laugh in her chest. Emily comes the rest of the way down the stairs, ruffling Jacks hair as she comes to stand at Aaron’s side. JJ sees his hand slip behind her back, settle on the curve of her spine, easy, familiar and practised.

“Morning” JJ says finally, the smile splitting her face as Henry comes zooming from the hallway, bouncing energy off the walls.

“Mommy Mommy Mommy let’s gooooooo” Henry cries, grabbing her hand and pulling, excited for the day of indoor rock climbing they have planned. She heaves him onto her hip, giving Aaron and Emily a chance to say goodbye to Jack before the leave. She watches as they shut the door, Aaron wrapping both arms around her before the heavy wood secludes them from view.

When both boys are buckled safely in the backseat, talking fast and excited about their plans, she grabs her phone from her bag. Starting a text thread with Penelope, Rossi and Morgan she types three words before closing her phone, the laugh finally bubbling out of her like a hot spring.

“ _Pay up bitches_ ”

**How Derek Wins the Bet**

Derek wins by playing dirty. Competitive by nature he starts planning the minute they leave the bar. Breaking the rule on inter-team profiling he immediately catalogues what he knows about them, pairs it with how they would ricochet and bounce off one another, what traits would amplify and quiet in the presence of the other.

Emily is the second most private and guarded person he has ever met. He knows asking her will get him nothing but snorts of derision and lies so convincing he might believe them. The idea of asking Hotch about his love life is a laughable prospect, him being the first most private and guarded person Derek knows.

He comes to it in the middle of the night. Overwhelmingly, they have one thing in common. Both of them have tempers, quick, like a flash in a pan, burning bright and hot and vanishing. He’s been on the end of both tempers and debates whether five hundred bucks is worth putting himself in the firing line. But in the end, it is the only way he can think of, the only way that seems organic, short of following them around to catch them fucking in a supply closet or something.

He doesn’t get the chance to put it into motion for almost a month. Then comes the case, frustrating on its own merit, they’re afforded the luxury of time, stacks and stacks of white-collar paperwork occupying most of their trip. He double-checks he’s in the right place to do it, ensures he can get the evidence he needs.

He starts small, making a deliberately weak pot of coffee, sure to set them both on edge. He taps his pen, starts chewing gum. When he flicks each page, he lets out a deliberate sigh. Emily’s temper is quicker, her eyes darting to him with a glare each time he snaps the crisp pages within his fingers.

When he sees her simmering he starts with the spitballs. One or two lodged in Reid’s hair is enough for Hotch’s jaw to set, clenched tight as he walks the line between playful banter and insubordination. He keeps it up all day, Rossi zoned so far out he doesn’t notice, JJ used to his antics finding him easy to ignore.

He deliberately annoys them. Misses the trash can with his lunch bag and shrugs as it crumples to the floor, watches as they come to a slow rolling boil. Hotch’s tone is clipped when he tells them to pack it in for the day, return to the hotel and get a good nights sleep.

When they leave Prentiss is on him, hissing her complaints as he tries desperately to smother the knowing smirk on his face. When she recites a litany of his small crimes throughout the day, he threads the needle.

“Jeez Princess, you’re wound pretty tight. I think you need to get _laid_ ” He says, wincing when she punches his shoulder, **_hard._**

He’s chosen this room for its proximity, not its view. He’s between Emily and Hotch’s rooms ( _they always take rooms apart from each other, they’re smart)_ and when he deliberately lingers behind, knowing they’re both too worked up to notice he is wedged between them. When he slips into his own room, he finally lets the grin break over his face, lying in wait, trap set.

He doesn’t have to wait long, sprawled on his bed he hears it, Hotch’s room, through walls made of spit and promise. Emily’s voice as she rants, growing steadily higher, falling only when a soft male murmur soothes her.

He considers declaring victory, but not yet, it’s not enough proof yet. He’s waiting for the squeak of bedsprings, the knock of the headboard.

Instead; he gets a lesson in what happens when two people with explosive tempers use each other for stress relief. If he didn’t know better, he would think they were beating the crap out of each other, the sounds of flesh on flesh in resounding smacks as moans escape through mouths clearly muffled by hands, or pillows, or skin. He’s sure he hears a lamp break, a soft thud as one pushes the other into a wall, the slam of a fist into a door, thumping pleasure through the walls like a heartbeat

He calls Penelope, hushes her and holds the phone to the wall, the muted groans and whimpers are unmistakable.

“Gross” Penelope comments when he puts the phone back to his ear. “But you win, you’re dumb, but you win.”

“What?!” he exclaims, proud and puffed up as he declares his victory. “This was a _brilliant_ plan, how am I dumb?”

“Oh sugar, I don’t deny it was brilliant. But if you really think they’re the type to only go one round, you don’t know Prentiss very well.”

“Shit.”

“Sleep well Chocolate Thunder” She says with a laugh, and the silence on the end of the phone only amplifies the cries coming through the wall.

Derek scrambles for his headphones, resolving that the five hundred bucks will be well spent on a new pair that are noise-cancelling.

**How Penelope Wins the Bet**

It takes her two weeks to break and check their phone activity. She knows its fruitless, can’t imagine Hotch is much of a ‘texter’ and she’s proven right. There’s no uptick in activity for either of them, calls ingoing and outgoing matching almost perfectly with their cases, the only anomaly is higher than average data usage for both of them. But Emily watches Netflix on her phone, and Aaron has a child, so she doesn’t find it suspicious. She feels only slightly guilty when she closes the program, wondering what her next move should be.

She tries next time she goes out drinking with Emily. Shots of absinthe and slurred speech she finally remembers, lunging at her friend, giggling and tipsy.

“Are you seeing anybody?” She asks, her voice sweet as sugar, tongue stained green from the melon cocktails. But Emily is quick, whipsmart and less drunk than Penelope is. She shrugs off her question with easy grace, changing the subject with the delicacy of a tennis serve, launching Penelope into a full-throated defence of Kevin as a boyfriend.

When she begs Emily to come shopping with her a week later, the bet is the furthest thing from her mind.

“You’re the second sexiest person I know, and I can’t ask _Derek_ to come lingerie shopping with me. Pleeease?” she wheedles and begs until Emily relents, the promise of a trip to her favourite adult store enough incentive to give in.

Emily trawls through the racks for her, picking delicate scraps of lace in florals and pastels for Penelope to try on. She’s impressed with her taste, finding each piece impossible in its perfection on her frame. She nags until Emily chooses pieces for herself, dark and sharp edges, garters and corsets with a more dangerous edge to them.

The store is female-oriented, changerooms lush and large, comfort a priority as they change and decide.

She’s waiting for Emily to emerge from the change room when she hears the buzz of her phone, left on the decorative table. Instinct flicks her eyes to the alert and she stops breathing.

_“Get the red, looks good enough to eat – A.”_

It’s from an app she recognises. She could kick herself for not thinking of it sooner. She had _told_ Emily about it for goodness sake. Instead of using network data, it sent messages through the internet, increasing their data usage. Popular with teenagers and those seeking to hide their phone activity, it was common to use it as a secret alternative to texting.

Recklessness made her grab the phone, sliding the notification to open the app, pleased that Emily hadn’t set up the proper security protocols. Immediately she regretted it, her eyes assaulted by a photo of Emily, posing sinfully in the changing room, splashes of red lingerie flashing before her eyes as she swiped her thumb upwards. The thread was _long_ they had been using this app for a long time.

Satisfied that she had won the bet, she went to replace the phone on the desk, when her name caught her eye.

_“You really think Penelope will snoop through your phone? A.”  
“She suspects something, if I leave my phone in the open, she absolutely will. E”  
“You’re going shopping this weekend right? A.”  
“Lingerie for her and Kevin’s anniversary, should be fun – any requests? E.”  
“I like red… you’re okay with everyone finding out? A.”  
“Sure, might as well have some fun while we’re at it. Are you? E.”  
“You know I am. I love you, doesn’t matter who knows it. A.”  
“Excellent. I’ll send you some photo’s of something red ;) E.”  
  
_

“You can be a right bitch sometimes Emily Prentiss” She calls out, frozen on the seat outside the dressing room.

“Serves you right for snooping. Don’t scroll any further up or you’ll be scarred for life.” Comes the laughing voice from behind the door.

Penelope dropped the phone as if she had been burned.

**How Dave Wins the Bet**

Dave Rossi wins the bet within 24 hours. Walking into Hotch’s office the next evening he strolls lazily, a swagger in his gait.

“Pay up” He says.

Emily is spread on the couch, shoes kicked off, paperwork on her knees as Aaron works behind the desk.

“What?” Aaron says, looking up from his folder.

“Pay. Up. You pair bet you could keep it a secret for a year. It’s been five months, and the team knows.” He said, smiling broadly as he grabbed a glass and poured himself a celebratory scotch.

“Oh fuck off, they don’t know” Emily said, snorting as she returned to her paperwork.

“Really? When you left the bar last night, they all made a bet to see who could prove it first. A bet I am about to collect on” He said, grinning broadly as he sipped his drink.

“You told them?” Emily asked “That’s cheating!”

“I would _never!_ You’re going to tell them, preferably tomorrow. There’s a gathering at the cigar club on Friday night, and my combined winnings should net me a lovely glass of ’37 Glenfiddich and a Fuente.”

“Fuck.” Emily said, rolling her head back onto the couch.

“You okay?” Hotch asked, looking over at her.

“Yeah. Fine, but Derek’s going to be _unbearable_ ” She said, covering her hand with her eyes. “Dave, why on earth would you let them _bet_ on us?”

“Because _Bella,_ you swore me to secrecy, laughed at me when I said they would find out, and bet me a thousand dollars you could make it a year. Why wouldn’t I let them bet on you?”

“He has a point honey” Aaron said, a smile curving his lips.

“Shut it.” She replied, shooting him a look from between her fingers. “Personal cheque okay?” She said finally, sitting up from the couch.

“Please. And next time, don’t consummate your relationship in my guest bathroom and we won’t have this problem”

Emily shoots him another withering glare, reaching in her bag for her chequebook.

On Friday night, Dave savours a whiskey and cigar that tastes oddly like _victory._


End file.
